Why Weepest Thou, Child?
Posted on Tue Apr 9th, 2024 @ 6:01pm by Thor Odinson
1,143 words; about a 6 minute read
Mission:
Short Treks
Location: Norway, Earth
Timeline: 336 BC: As the sun reaches noon
Astrid of the Fairhair had run from the funeral of her father, Beren the Bloodsword, just after his pyre had been lit. Her mother had always called her the weakest of her children and the most emotionful. Her father had always seen her as something else, he had called her kind and gentle ever since she had saved a small bird in her youth. In fact, he could often be heard calling her his “little tove”.
Now she lay on a litter of leaves in a grove of woods that she had never known before this day. Drying her eyes, she looked down upon her torn and muddied dress. It was certain this day that she would soon follow her father’s fate, though not into Valhalla. Her mother was certain to beat her bloodied for ruining the once dazzling white dress.
Þunor himself sat in the sacred grove that morning, communing with the Earth goddess Gaia, of whom some say he was truly born, though getting her to admit that was a fool’s errand. His mind was not heavy with the rumor, for the son of the Mother of Earth would be a great and glorious honor. It was secretly his greatest wish and why he chose to honor himself with the protection of these small people, these humans who had risen from nothing to already dominate the countryside.
Quietly, Thor rose from his place amongst the runes tones that bore his name and summoned him to this sacred, human place. Upon spying the beautiful, young Norse woman, he approached. “Why weepest thou, child?” Thor asked gently.
Looking up, Astrid was astonished and ashamed at the same time. “Greatest Þórr, on this day, my father and our clan leader, has died and his body burned like the sun above.”
“He died in battle? If so, he is in Vahalla. This is a great honor and none should weep for it,” Thor exclaimed as if the matter was settled.
“He lives now only in Valhalla, yes,” Astrid replied, fresh tears streaked her porcelain skin. “But I shall not see him again. I am not a worthy warrior and I will make a poor wife. No man shall have me and word of my unfitness as a wife reaches far and wide.”
“Then you will die unremembered, forgotten as nearly all are to the length of time,” Thor decided, again as if that settled the matter.
“But I do not choose to die forgotten and alone, Þórr. Surely you can put fire in my belly?” she pleaded.
Thor had seeded Móði this way and received many an unkind word from his father over the matter. “I shall not put fire in your belly, but I can light a fire in your heart. One that would see you enter Vahalla, if it be your wish?”
“I am called Astrid of the Fairhair, and I should very much like to see my father again in time.” Astrid pulled herself from the litter of leaves and stood, facing Thor’s gaze unwaveringly. “Put this fire in my heart.”
“Many will die by your hand.”
“Then they shall die in your honor and in my father’s name. I shall fear no one and many shall call me Astrid the Mighty. I shall take no husband, but lay with many men. They will call me leader and I will have an army to breakdown the doors to Valhalla when my time comes.
“Then, when I have passed into the great halls, and only then, shall we sup together and drink in great barrels of mead.”
Thor raised Mjolnir between them. His eyes lit with the fire of lightning as he announced, “Let it be so!”
With a tap of his finger to Mjolnir, the sweetest note rang out in the glade and the wind rushed so hard the trees bent and the leaves scattered and even the rune stones shifted, but Astrid swayed not. When it was done, her eyes were alight with the same lightning, if only for a second.
When she looked down at herself, her dress was torn to just above her knee. She was fitted from head to toe in gleaming metal mail and armor. In her right hand, the most beautiful sword she ever lay eyes on was held. Runes named her Astrid the Mighty, favored by Thor. On he left arm, a heavy shield of the same metal was held without strain. She was strong now. Stronger even than the biggest man in her village.
“Know that tears do not make you weak, Astrid of the Fairhair. There is strength in your tears, for there is one who would never let the memory of her father’s name be forgotten in Valhalla as yours will never be forgotten. Bear your tears as you bear your shield and sword. Be peaceful now,” Thor said, giving her cheek a gentle caress.
“Should we meet in battle, Astrid the Fairhair, I can only hope you be on my side.”
“And you on mine, Greatest Þórr. You have given me new life. I go now into battle for my clan. I shall win with such great gifts.”
“Then all has been said that needs saying. Live well, kill many enemies and drink much mead!”
The wind whipped again and in the flash on lightning, which would never make Astrid’s eyes squint again, she watched as Þórr left the earthly plane.
Astrid stalked out of the grove of trees and returned to her village. Her mother took one look at her and began her complaining about the torn away dress that was to one day be her wedding gown. Astrid struck her as she had many times been struck. “Shut up, woman, you bleat like a goat.”
Gunhild held her cheek and actually looked at her daughter for the first time without judgement. She wore armor and carried a sword and shield of godly matter. Astrid walked tall and was strong, stronger than any man, at least. She was only missing a helm.
Astrid reached into the rafters and dug through the straw to find her father’s helm. Gunhild almost chided her for daring to wear the clan leader’s helm, but the change in Astrid was clear. Once she walked out their door, she would be clan leader.
Many men would challenge her, from that day until her last. All would lose - their reputation, their lands and their lives. Astrid the Fairhair was a Norse woman warrior in the making and under guard of Thor himself.
And she would never be forgotten, for as long as the name Astrid followed humanity to the stars and back. For as long as she drank mead and ate mutton in the halls of Valhalla, she would never be forgotten.
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